


New York State of Mind

by Lexipedia369



Category: Avengers (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst and Feels, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Deaf Clint Barton, F/M, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Mentions of Cancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-19
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:57:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20703338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexipedia369/pseuds/Lexipedia369
Summary: She was his home. His time away. His peace of mind. Yeah, when he came back to the city from the compound, he came back to Brooklyn. His building. He came back to her as well. She was the one thing that he refused to give up under any circumstances.





	New York State of Mind

She was his home. His time away. His peace of mind. Yeah, when he came back to the city from the compound, he came back to Brooklyn. His building. He came back to her as well. She was the one thing that he refused to give up under any circumstances. 

A chance encounter, a cup of coffee, She had pink hair at the time and a hellifed undercut. Long on top in a mohawk that hung down to her shoulder. It went with the whole OG goth aesthetic she’d been rockin’ with her nose chain and leather jacket. He didn’t have his hearing aids in and the barista was feeling a little less than charitable in the patience department. She signed the order for him, with pastries and whatnot, and from there a friendship was born. 

She ran a support group for deaf cancer survivors. Volunteered at the Humane Society twice a month. Lived with three rescued strays including two cats and what she claimed was a chihuahua but Clint was convinced was a tiny sentient buzz saw on a meth bender. All looks to the contrary, she was all softy and he loved that about her. 

When she got sick the first time, it had been after the Battle of New York. Clint refused to leave her side, even though she told him it was fine and he didn’t have to. He needed to be strong for someone who wouldn’t judge him. She was a pillar of strength for him, too. 

First couple rounds of chemo were tough on everybody. Eventually, though, they fell into a rhythm, he looked after her, she cooked for him. She even moved into the building when her lease ended in Queens. It was a shorter commute for everyone and she had the comfiest couch he’d ever crashed on. 

Eventually, she got well again, or at least, well-ish. New normal, and all. She hated it, but what can ya do, right? She lived, and that’s more than some people get. Her hair came back, jet black, which was a shock to him. He’d only ever seen it in color, and she rectified that directly. 

The first time they kissed was a disputed fact. She insisted he kissed her first, while he contended the contrary. It happened on the roof of the building one night, when the insomnia got bad for both of them and they were up late having a beer. They’d been staring up at what would have been the stars, talking about life as it might have been if not. 

His lips were soft, chapped, eager. Tasted like beer and wanting and damn could she relate. His blond hair was on the shaggy side but so, so soft, and the late night stubble grazed her palms in the best way. He was warm, strong, those ridiculously pretty arms pulling her into his lap as he licked her mouth open. Tongues tangled like it was a new language and both were learning. 

For a little while, it was perfect. 

And then she got sick again. A lot further along this time, she opted not to carry on with the meds since the end was coming a lot faster than anyone planned. They argued, he wanted to fight, but in the end, she was one more person he couldn’t save. 

Brooklyn hadn’t been her home for long, but a little piece of her would be there forever with him. He saw her on her last plane ride, home to her family in Arizona, committed to the same lands her ancestors had lived and died. Some of her support group took her animals, even the tiny heathen, and everyone pitched in for a memorial plaque and a bench to be placed at the dog park they liked to take their fuzzy kids when the weather was warm. 

Even after everything that happened, everything he’d lost, he’ll still find himself on a sunny afternoon, sitting on your bench, watching Lucky play with the other dogs and for a moment, he has a tiny sliver of peace. 


End file.
